


Yet Still More 20 Questions--Longing

by jdrush



Series: 20 Questions [17]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Internal Monologue, Kinda, Missing Scene, mrs. hudson is concerned about her wall, sherlock is concerned about his feelings for john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:55:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29764095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdrush/pseuds/jdrush
Summary: Missing scene from "The Great Game".  After John and Sherlock's 'little domestic', Sherlock ponders his relationship with the good doctor.  A companion piece to “Just Another 20 Questions--Agony Aunt”, from Sherlock’s POV; almost all of it takes place in Sherlock’s head, as he stands at the window and watches John leave the flat.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Series: 20 Questions [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/766887
Kudos: 3





	Yet Still More 20 Questions--Longing

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: These boys belong to Moffat and Gatiss, BBC1, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. No betas were harmed in the making of this fic. All mistakes are mine.  
> AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm currently in the process of uploading some of my old stories to AO3. This story was originally posted to my livejournal January 22, 2011.

_**Bold Italics equal thoughts** _

Sherlock was stretched out on the couch, back to the room, when he heard the distinct movements of John getting out of his chair and stalking across the floor. He turned his head just enough to watch, incredulously, as John prepared to leave the flat. “Where are you going?” he asked, sulkily.

John threw on his jacket and shot back, angry and hurt, “Out! I need some air!” He was so distracted by his desire to be out of the flat--out of Sherlock’s presence--as fast as possible that he crashed into Mrs. Hudson on the stairs. The nasty row with his friend. . . colleague . . .whatever. . . still ringing in his ears, he never even thought to apologize.

Mrs. Hudson, however, knew that look on the good doctor’s face, and wasn’t offended. “Oh, sorry, love,” she chirped, even though she was hardly the one at fault. Reaching the landing, she gave a quick knock on the open door and a cheery, “Woo hoo! Have you two had a little domestic?” before entering the flat and heading into the kitchen.

_**Not now, Mrs. Hudson. I can’t deal with you, with. . .all. . .of. . .this. . .right now!** _

Sherlock could hear his landlady pottering around the kitchen. He thought he should probably warn her not to open the fridge, but he had more important things to worry about. He swooped off the couch, stepped gracefully up and over the coffee table, and made his way to the living room window. From his perch, he could watch as John stepped onto the sidewalk outside 221b Baker Street, his mind already flooding with regrets and self-incriminations:

_**Why did I say those horrific, spiteful things?** _

_**Why do I act like such an insufferable bastard around you?** _

_**Why do I constantly criticize you, belittle you, hurt you?** _

_**Like a manipulative child, I keep pushing and pushing, testing the boundaries of your patience, of your friendship, waiting to see how far I can take you.** _

_**But nothing rattles you, John--not even a severed head in the fridge. I’m the unpredictable, unstable one. You just go through life, rolling with the punches, a decent, compassionate bloke. A steadfast and true friend. I’m lucky to have you in my life, and yet, I can’t still my traitorous tongue from spewing words that cut you so deeply. And one day, that compassion will end. One day, I’ll push you too far, and you’ll leave here and never come back.** _

_**What will become of me then?** _

_**When did you become so important to me that I can’t imagine my life without you in it?** _

Mrs. Hudson, still bustling around kitchen, rubbed her cold hands together and commented, “Ooh, it’s a bit nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more.”

Sherlock didn’t respond, even though he secretly agreed with her. John SHOULD have grabbed a warmer coat, although Sherlock knew his journey wouldn’t be a long one. A short walk to the tube station, four stops, a two block stroll and he’d be at his destination.

Sherlock watched as the man in question dashed across the street, his thoughts turning more bitter and envious:

_**You’re running off to Sarah again, aren’t you?** _

_**Do you know how jealous that makes me? Do you care?** _

_**You’re mine. I don’t want to share you with her. With anyone.** _

_**Why do you have to see her as often as you do?** _

_**Why don’t you want to go out with me? Or stay home with me? Or just BE with me?** _

_**What can she give you that I can’t?** _

_**Well, besides that.** _

_**Although, I’d give you that, too, if you’d ask.** _

_**Gladly. Eagerly. Passionately.** _

_**Unreservedly.** _

_**Do you have any idea how often I think about us like that, imagining your body next to mine, on top of mine, inside of mine? The feel of your lips pressed to mine, the feel of your skin sliding against mine?** _

_**Too often, John. Far too often.** _

_**What can I do to show you how much I want you?** _

_**Why can’t I tell you I love you?** _

Sherlock continued to gaze out the window, watching John as he made his way through the early evening throng with confident, measured steps. So sure of himself. It wasn’t fair. Sherlock was a mess, and John. . .John was poised and dignified. His military training, perhaps, or just an innate strength that infused him. Because Sherlock knew, beneath that gentle, crumpled face and those comfy jumpers was a core of purest steel--all part of the complex personality that was John Watson.

Possibly talking about the city, possibly talking about his absent flatmate, Sherlock sighed, “Look at that, Mrs. Hudson. Quiet. Calm. Peaceful. Isn’t it hateful?”

Sherlock’s emotions, meanwhile, were anything but quiet, calm, and peaceful. He felt frayed, confused, and anxious. And most distasteful--vulnerable. Sherlock wasn’t used to such turmoil, and he was fairly certain he didn’t like it.

_**It wasn’t supposed to be like this. All I wanted—NEEDED—was a flatmate. Just someone to help pay the bills, someone who could put up with my idiosyncrasies, someone who would fade into the background and not bother me. That’s all.** _

_**And instead, I got you, John Watson. An average man who is anything but average. An ordinary man who is quite exceptional. A good man. A kindhearted man. A brave and noble man. Someone who keeps me grounded, who tolerates my worst behaviours, who takes care of me and always has my back. Someone who makes me laugh and makes me feel. Someone who understands me as no one ever has. Someone who has gotten under my skin and through the wall I had built around myself to keep others at a distance.** _

_**I wasn’t supposed to end up caring about you, worrying about you, desiring you.** _

_**Loving you.** _

_**Sometimes I hate what you’ve done to me, John Watson.** _

_**And sometimes, like now, I hate myself.** _

Mrs. Hudson, finished in the kitchen, placed the receipt for the groceries on a clear patch of the table, and made her way to the front door of the flat. “Oh, I’m sure something will turn up, Sherlock,” she sympathized. “A nice murder. That’ll cheer you up.”

Sherlock, still brooding, turned from the window and sighed.

_**Please come home, John. I promise to fix the mess I made tonight. I promise to be a better flatmate, a better friend. I promise to tell you how I feel about you, as frightening as that prospect is. I promise to love you as you deserve to be loved.** _

“Mmm. Can’t come too soon,” he muttered wondering if he meant a nice murder, or a resolution to his tangled emotions.

Seeing the happy face shot into the wall of the sitting room, Mrs. Hudson exclaimed, “Hey! What have you done to my bloody wall?!”

A impish twinkle sparkled in Sherlock’s eye and his lips quirked in a half-grin, as he turned to look at his masterpiece. A naughty boy happy that his misdeeds had been noticed.

Mrs. Hudson, quite peeved, declared, “I’m putting this on your rent, young man!” as she headed down the stairs.

Sherlock had just enough time to smile a wide pleased smile at the mischief he had caused when a huge explosion knocked him to the floor. One final thought crossed his mind:

_**I’m sorry, John. . .** _

Then all went black.

END SCENE


End file.
